By His Bedside
by Devon Jase Colm
Summary: Fear does strange things, Granger. It makes you ally with those you hate,' says Draco. 'He went to save you.' What can you do if you accidentally save an enemy when you meant to save a friend?


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. That belongs to J.K. Rowling. The plot and unamed curse however, are mine. 

**A/N:** This is just a one-shot that I came up with on a whim. Maybe my muse is returning to me...'Tis highly possible. Anyways, I'll just let you read the story and end my reflection on the return of my muse here.

* * *

Neither of the two had imagined that the flash of emerald light could strike so quickly. Instinct was not enough this time, and now Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter lay in the hospital Wing. The latter rested peacefully, looking quite like a child tucked safely into bed. The corners of his lips curled up slightly, as if remembering the soft goodnight kiss of a mother. His complexion was a bit whiter than usual, but his unruly black hair still twisted across his pillow and forehead. His glasses lay in two pieces on the night stand, waiting to be repaired.

The other boy, however, looked quite troubled. Draco's thin lips were pursed into an even thinner line, drawing his skin more tightly over his defined features. Pale as the sheets, he looked as though he'd been mummified. Splotches of his white blonde hair were singed, enhancing his decayed look. Even though Harry's appearance seemed an improvement over Draco's, both were mere shades of their waking selves.

"They're both in a coma," Madame Pomfrey explained to a quiet Hermione. "Professor Dumbledore is still researching the spell they were hit with. It isn't like anything either of us has ever seen before."

"Thank you," she murmured in response, already drifting toward Harry's bed. As Madam Pomfrey retreated to her office, Hermione slipped her hand into Harry's still one. "You hands are always so warm," she informed him softly. The Hospital Wing was quiet, and even her low tones stimulated an echo. She was alone with her best friend...and his enemy. Still, she put the eerie silence aside and attempted to speak to Harry. She told him of school, that it was a shame he was in this state over the Christmas holiday, and that Ron would be here if he could, but he family was visiting Charlie who was now in Albania. Soon her voice shook with compressed sadness and tears. Harry looked so content, but he was so distant and beyond her reach. She merely wanted her friend back.

Suddenly cold, she sprang up from the bed and paced between his and Draco's. It was like crossing between worlds. Beside Harry's bed were boxes of chocolate from Honeydukes, festive bouquets, enchanted cards and the like, all wishing him well. Draco's bed stand was empty. She was ready to turn and go when the idea of emptiness settled into her mind. No one should be alone in a state like this.

Moving slowly, she advanced toward the prostrate Draco. "I'm guessing you don't get many visitors," she began, fiddling with the ribbon tied around her hair. "And I'm also guessing that you aren't too thrilled about having me for a visitor."

_How intuitive, Granger_, she seemed to hear him drawl carelessly. If he had been sitting, she could imagine him lounging in his seat, face stonily placid, eyes gleaming mischievously.

"But I'm here anyway." She stood awkwardly at his bed side, analyzing his face. How she wished his gray eyes would snap open in a glare. Without his vindictive disposition to provoke her, she didn't know how to act or what to say. "It must be slightly lonely in here," she ventured. When she remembered he couldn't verbally respond, she continued. "I get lonely as well." And her confessions began. She explained how homework led to isolation, her uneasiness around strangers, and her tendency to be an introvert. Without Harry and Ron, she was utterly alone - or at least she felt that way. Yes, Ginny was a friend too...

She couldn't remember how long she talked, nor what she spoke of specifically. At some evening hour, Madame Pomfrey shooed her away. Before Hermione left, she tied her hair ribbon around Draco's bedpost. Now his bed was not quite as ghostlike. Glancing over her shoulder as she left, she felt he had listened.

* * *

And so became her custom for the Christmas holiday. Around noon, after a morning of studying, Hermione would retreat to the Hospital Wind to "chat with" Harry and Draco. The pile around Harry's bed grew larger as brightly wrapped gifts and letters were delivered. Mrs. Weasley's traditional Christmas sweater was sure to be among them. With each visit, Hermione found herself spending less and less time at Harry's side. She often sat at the foot of Draco's bed and read aloud to both, only to find her intent turning towards Draco.

It was the freedom of not knowing him, she told herself. It was the way his actions were so predictable that she could role play his side of the conversation. Or maybe it was because it was easier for her to comprehend he was in a coma than it was for her to understand that Harry was in the same state. Nonetheless, guilt pitted itself in her stomach. She felt as though she was being unfaithful to Harry.

One day, in an attempt to ease her emotions, she sat with him. Sighing, she wondered what to do next and decided on absentmindedly pushing his hair around his forehead. As she did so, his scar came into view. Tracing it with her fingertip, she asked, "Why did you do it?"

"Do what?" came the voice. Hermione was used to having imagined conversations so she didn't question the source of the response. She did note however that the voice was strained and rough, as though it had undergone a week without use.

"Whatever it is that landed you and Malfoy in the Hospital wing."

"Don't you mean you and Potter, Granger?" The voice attempted to sneer, but some of the syllables caught in the speaker's throat.

Startled, she turned to face Draco. His position wasn't any different except that his eyes were now open. "You're..."

"Awake?" he questioned dryly, his voice crackling a bit. "How observant of you." Hermione looked back to Harry, still lying peacefully beside her. "Don't wait for him, Granger. He's never waking up." She winced at the malevolence laced in his strengthening voice. Surely, he was lying.

"Why? And how would you know anyway? You've been in a coma for six days and not even Dumbledore know the true affect of the spell...or even what spell was used."

"Naive as always," he replied flatly, but showed no signs of actually answering her question.

'Well," she probed after a long pause, "what _do_ you know about it?"

"You and your one track mind bore me Granger," he drawled just a bit too loudly. At the sound of his voice, Madame Pomfrey rushed into the room and upon seeing Draco awake, broke into a joyous cry. Teachers were summoned and potions conjured. As the chaos began and built on itself, Hermione studied Draco, who still lay motionless. There was a serious aura about him that drew her in and led her to believe he had not been lying. She reached down and clutched Harry's hand. Now, more than ever, she wished he'd squeeze back.

* * *

After many tears, endless hours, and much begging, Hermione finally managed to convince Dumbledore, Madame Pomfrey, and McGonagall to grant her permission to visit the Hogwarts Ward at St. Mungo's. Both Harry and Draco had been relocated there. Why? She had her theories but she was sure one of the invalids could clarify that and more for her.

Timidly, she entered the gleaming white room that smelled of starch and cleaner. Wrinkling her nose in disgust, she spotted Draco, propped upright in bed. Harry, she presumed, was lying in a bed hidden by the dividing curtain. "Nauseating, isn't it?" he commented as she moved forward. "I was wondering when the Hospital would be invaded by rodents." The insult didn't even register in her mind.

"You're a bit more cordial than usual," she remarked, expecting him to shrug cooly, but he didn't.

As if in response to her expectations he said, "I'm paralyzed for the shoulders down." His voice was oddly quiet as if he were about to tell her a secret. "It started with threats to the strongest, bravest, and most cunning of the houses, as if reincarnations of the founders themselves were being called out."

"Malfoy, I don't -"

"Let me finish." His voice recovered and retained its ordinary hardness. "Potter and I were the only two who responded. At the rendezvous point, we were hit instantly with the curse."  
Somehow blaming him she demanded harshly, "What could have driven you to go? Fame? Money?"

Indignantly, he answered, "Self-preservation." After a pause, he explained further. "The last threat was to the one each held most dear. I went to save myself. He," Draco jerked his head toward the curtain, "went to save you."

"What?" she whispered, circling the curtain to see Harry. He looked the same as before, perhaps a bit thinner, but still dreaming in a peaceful sleep. Tears pricked at her eyes as Draco explained the spell.

"The spell can only be lifted by the one the victim sacrificed for."

Hope stained Hermione's voice. "Then I can still -"

"No. Our intents melded together within the spell. I would otherwise be asleep eternally. If you had paid more attention to him, he would be the one speaking to you now." He unmistakably mocked her.

"You lie," she hissed, taking Harry's hand in her own. The tears spilled down her cheeks as she asked him, "Why'd you go to save me?" Despite her best intentions, it was hard to hope that she would ever hear an answer.

* * *

Daily she tended to Harry. She brushed his hair, stroked his cheek, held his hand, read to him, spoke with him, and occasionally curled up next to him on the bed. All the while she reasoned that if her affections could save Draco, then she could save Harry as well. She even tied her hair ribbons to the bedposts.

She never spoke to Draco. In her mind, it was unfair that he lived while Harry was dead to the world. And yes, she blamed him.

This carried on for a month before Draco spoke to her. It was late evening, just before sun set, and Hermione was reading an account of a recent Quidditch match to Harry. Over the month, Draco had grown quite used to Hermione's presence, even if she ignored his. It was refreshing to have an intelligent life form in the room, but he did not dare tell her so.

But tonight was different. Tonight the air was chilled, and all he wanted was someone beside him. "Hermione,' he called hoarsely, her first name foreign to his lips. If she heard him, she ignored him. "Granger," he called a bit louder.

She snapped her head towards him and answered through the curtain. "What?"

"I have a slight...favor...to ask of...you." He finally pushed the words past his lips. The lights flickered for a moment.

"What?"

Closing his eyes he asked softly, "Will you lie with me like you do with Potter?"

"No," she scoffed sharply. She believed in equality and fairness, yes, but being fair with Malfoy was beyond question. In her mind, it was his fault that Harry lay motionless while he, though paralized, spoke to her. No amount of pity could make her treat him with anything but curt politeness.

His eyes remained closed, but his face contorted with suppressed embarrassment. Humility was not a value he developed by choice. His current state forced him to abandon all such things as pride or arrogance. "Will you read to me?"

"No." It was strange to She spoke so often to Harry that she wasn't familiar with someone answering her anymore. She fell silent, as did he.

The pause in their conversation lasted until the crescent moon glittered outside the window. Hermione was remembering the six days she'd spent with, what in theory, had been Draco's corpse. She felt as though she'd been practicing Necromancy, and by some consequence of her actions become Necromancer to Malfoy. Though on Harry, she couldn't seem to work the same occult phenomenon. Draco was thinking of the same six days, and how her voice had seemed so distant through the dark shroud surrounding him. Each day, he'd grasp onto what she told him of her life and of school and pull himself closer to the surface. Even when she had spoken to Potter, he'd busied himself with her voice.

"Are you still lonely?" he asked, suddenly desperate for human contact of any kind. He could only hope she'd answer.

"Yes," she replied, reliving the Hospital Wing and her first "conversation" with Draco. "It's even worse now. I'm here...and you're alive. He's just as good as dead. I keep expecting him to berate me for talking too much about homework, or to hold my hand...or to even hold me when I lie next to him." Her heart ached for human compassion and as she spoke, her coldness toward Draco melted away. Defying all reason he was showing it to her. "Before...you said he went for me. How did you ?"

"Fear does strange things, Granger. It makes you ally with those you hate - so it was for me and Potter. He told me." The foreboding he felt worsened with the night, and he began to see this as a last confession...and chance to ameliorate some of the hatred he'd planted through his life.

He and Hermione continued to talk well past midnight. She'd moved from behind the curtain to his bed, and sat comfortably on the edge. The two shared secrets, argued over certain pieces of literature, or debated about history, but most importantly fulfilled each other's need for companionship. As Hermione yawned for the umpteenth time, she smiled directly at Draco. His ghostly face softened slightly, but his eyes were glazed with fear and worry. Maybe it was his expression that drove her to ask, "Would you still like me to lie with you?"

If her offer caught him by surprise, it never showed on his face. Instead, he nodded stiffly and closed his eyes. He could only feel her hair tickle his neck, but tried to visualize her beside him, tucked against his body. "Move my arm so it's around you," he ordered dryly, remembering her earlier wants. As she did so, he added, "And you may fold my fingers around yours if you wish.

As Hermione positioned him around her, she didn't second guess her actions. Maybe she did it because she was scared - of what she didn't know. This boy shared one life changing experience with Harry, and maybe she was scared that if he slipped away, she would loose her only connection to her friend. But she didn't question her motives as she settled down beside him, tucking her hand within his. His body was warm, and it felt good to be held. "Goodnight Malfoy," she whispered, letting the feeling of comfort settle around her.

"Goodnight Granger," he answered, closing his eyes as well. Her breath wrapped around his chin and he attempted to match his breathing to hers. Eventually, he achieved it, the unity plunging him into the darkness of sleep.

* * *

With the light of dawn, both Hermione and Draco's fears were confirmed. A dark figure strode down the hallways of the Hogwarts Ward at St. Mungo's. It held a wand at the ready and walked with an air of purpose. Slowly, it opened the door to Harry and Draco's room and crept to the latter's bed.

"Good work, my son," the voice hissed. "Potter will never awake now that you have stolen his savior." He regarded Hermione distastefully. "It is a shame that you are no longer any use to me. _Avada Kedavra_."

Draco's spirit sped from his body, but did not leave the room. He watched his father turn his attention back to Hermione. "And who knows what he told you, Mudblood," he said, raising his wand for a second time.

She might be a Mudblood, but she didn't deserve to die - not on his account. Her blood was marred but not her heart or mind. One day, she would do great things...maybe even stop his father's madness. Convincing himself he did this for revenge on his father, and not for the only person who'd disregarded the fact that he was a Malfoy, if only for a few hours, he dove into Harry's body. Instantly, his own emotions and personality were erased, leaving only his life force. Before Harry's own mind overpowered his, he probed a wail from his host. "HERMIONE!"

Lucius Malfoy snapped to attention. Lights flickered on in the hallway, and cursing, he Disapparated before the nurses reached the room. Hermione stirred in her sleep, not knowing that Harry was awake in the adjacent bed. Commotion ensued around her as the nurses realized Harry Potter had woken from the coma. She did not awake to this, but to the sensation of Draco's cooling body. "Malfoy," she murmured, blinking sleep from her eyes. His hand was oddly stiff around hers and she desperately listened for his heartbeat. "No," she cried softly, salty tears streaking down her cheeks.

Harry was momentarily blinded by the lights above him. "Where is she?" he muttered, his voice still very weak. "Hermione." He shifted uncomfortably, attempting to push himself into a sitting position. Paralysis had not claimed him. "Hermione?"

A nurse pried her away from Draco's body. When she saw Harry, Hermione let out a tiny squeak of joy before embracing him tightly. She sobbed uncontrollably, not for the boy who lived yet again, but for the boy who slipped away from her in the night.

* * *

**A/N:** And while you were reading that, I was having my reflection on my muse. It seems it has returned, refuses to tell me its name, but demands that you review. If you don't, the consequences could be messy and bloody, ending in me being fingerless. Therefore, I beg you to review and soothe the hot temper I've discovered in my muse. 


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